


Tales of Azeroth: Old Friends

by Zaalbeth



Series: Tales of Azeroth, Volume 1 [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft: Legion - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Burning Legion - Freeform, Dalaran, Demons, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Major Original Character(s), Male Friendship, Orcs, Orgrimmar, Original Character-centric, Past, Priests, Warlocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-13 06:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10508094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaalbeth/pseuds/Zaalbeth
Summary: A zeppelin ride from Orgrimmar to Dalaran offers an excellent view of the Broken Isles, but that's not all.[SPOILERS: After leaving the monastery, our grizzled warlock makes his way to the Broken Isles, with a quick stop in Orgrimmar to soak up the sweaty ambience. The ride between continents gives him a chance to reflect on what he might have done differently, but it's not long before the Legion is present in more than just memory, and he finds himself joining the ship's passengers in fending off the latest demonic incursion. It's been a while since he's had the chance to indulge himself in a little demon-slaying, but apparently seizing control of a demon's soul is just like riding a bike, if a fair bit bloodier. Luckily he doesn't have to wait long to thank Zaalbeth for the opportunity, as the two old friends reunite on the busy streets of Dalaran.TL;DR: Action, Humour, Grit; Zeppelins, Demons, Warlocks; Reminiscences, Regrets, WoW references. What are you waiting for?!]





	

**Author's Note:**

> The last of the initial three stories, written over two sessions in a single day, started immediately after "A Greater Enemy".

It was a bright, sunny day in Orgrimmar. Just like the day before, and the day before that.

I hate sunny days in Orgrimmar.

But the smell of the city was good, the rich unwashed scent of orcs and dirt and sweat. Good to get the smell of lilac out of my nose at last. Those damned Aldor seemed to _breathe_ lilac. I shook my head and took in a deep breath. Give me blood and sweat and filth any day.

I’d picked up a few bits and pieces from the Cleft when I came through the portal. Just some needle and thread, spare fabric for making travelling bags. I’d need them where I was going, and there didn’t seem much point in wasting Zaalbeth’s gold when I could make perfectly good ones myself. Anyway, it would give me something to do during the long flight over.

As it turned out, I wouldn’t need it.

A shadow fell across my face and I looked up. The zeppelin tower loomed over me. All aboard.

 

The Aldor had been surprised when I asked for refuge among them. A sanctum of the Light? Not exactly the kind of place they’d expect a warlock to come seeking sanctuary. But they had accepted my request. “We are all one in the Light”, they’d probably say. Or something like that.

Of course, they’re not stupid. They may trust in the Light but they keep a pretty sharp eye on the darkness too, just in case it decides to creep into their little haven one night. Now they’d invited a master of demons into their halls, nestled in right under their shiny, holy noses. They wouldn’t turn me away, no. That wouldn’t do. But they weren’t going to close both eyes with me around, either.

Not that I minded. The more prayers and incantations to ward off evil the better. The whole reason I picked that place was to hide my scent from the Legion. I figured that if there was anywhere they couldn’t sniff out a flicker of darkness, it was in amongst the light of a thousand holy candles. And maybe I was right.

But that didn’t stop them.

 

The air changed, and I looked up. We were three days out from Orgrimmar, and the voyage had been uneventful. But the ocean breeze smelt of good times long past, and the night stars were like old friends, absent for too long. The nights were too cold for any of the other travellers, and I was left undisturbed out on the deck beneath the stars, the night wind rushing through my hair. Felt like being alive again.

But right now, the sky ahead was darkening, and the zeppelin was being buffeted by strong headwinds from the east. I should have taken the portal like I wanted in the first place. But Zaalbeth advised me to take the zeppelin. “See de isles from de air,” he said. “Get a view o’ de big picture, right from da start.”

I had heard rumours, of course. I’d tried my best to keep out of old world business while I was in Outland. Kept to myself in my cell mostly. No need for conversation or visitors, and I wasn’t exactly expected to join the brothers and sisters at their prayers, a dozen times a day.

But it’s hard not to hear something when the Burning Legion invades your homeworld. Maybe I should have known, should have guessed they’d be coming for me, for her. But she was far away, hidden for years. And Draenor - that Draenor, the other Draenor - was worlds away, in another time and place entirely. How could the Legion of this timeline even find their way to her? Why would they try?

 

I guess the Legion don’t like having their toys taken away. Maybe I should have taken a portal to some demon world, walked right into their camp and let them tear me to shreds. Maybe they would have been so surprised they would have killed me outright before they even thought to entrap my soul forever. To steal from my mind the secret of the only thing that ever mattered to me and then force me to watch as they killed her over and over again for all eternity.

Or maybe I should have ended it myself, when I had the chance. While she was still safe.

But I didn’t do that. I hid. I sent her off to the safest place I knew of and I hid. I hid where they could never find me, or so I thought. I hid and hoped they’d forget all about a tired old orc, who had dared to defy the Legion by stealing their toys and turning them against them.

I guess the Legion don’t like having their toys taken away.

 

The storm was growing, and the crew were getting tense. I could hear shouted orders blowing back and forth on the wind as the zeppelin rocked about.

I’m no fool. I’ve heard this tune before. I went below and got my stuff.

Back on deck the sky was growing darker and you didn’t need to be a warlock to know what we were heading toward. The green glow and mass of whirling shapes was plain to see, lightning arcing among the clouds of this unnatural storm.

Demons.

I made a mental note to thank Zaalbeth.

 

People were running back and forth across the deck now, throwing ropes and shouting orders. War drums were beating and a call to arms was sounded: all soldiers of the Horde to the deck. I guess that’s what I am now, a soldier. Huh.

Those few adventurers stupid enough to still be in their cabins came scrambling up from below, clutching their bows and wands. Through the bustle I caught sight of a wrinkled orc in long, trailing robes of muted grey, standing on the other side of the deck. His hands gripped the railings tightly, but not in fear. The green of the sky was reflected in his eyes, but there was something else shining there: hunger.

I hate warlocks.

 

As we started to draw near, some of the more eager adventurers started flinging spells and projectiles at the stray shapes flitting around us. A couple found their marks. A young goblin mage sat frosting her nails while her noisy water elemental flung bolts of ice haphazardly out into the gathering storm. A huge orc with a curved sword in each hand paced up and down, frustrated by the waiting. On the far side a blood elf hunter stood up on the railings, firing his rifle ceaselessly into the cloud while some exotic kind of cat prowled on the deck by his feet.

Beneath the clamour of the crew’s preparations my ears caught the familiar sound of a teleport spell from the cabins below. Someone important leaving. Not everyone is as expendable as us soldiers, I guess.

Without shout or warning, the cannons began firing. There were explosions and bursts of flame among the milling demons, and their harsh shrieks echoed across the darkening sky. Most of those on board seemed to take this as some kind of starting signal, and began launching whatever they had at the winged shapes. But not everyone. Over on the far side, the warlock stood still, his long grey hair blowing wildly around him, his hands gripping the railing, waiting. I turned back to the sky.

 

Zeppelins never were my thing. And standing around watching while deckhands fire cannons, and mages fling frostbolts, just waiting for an infernal to crash through the gasbag above and send us all hurtling to a watery grave? Well that’s no fun at all.

Amid the chaos, I saw one of the strange flying demons heading right for the deck. Maybe it was coming to grab an unwary adventurer and lift him away. Maybe it was lonely. Maybe it was a gift.

Even for a warlock, I seem to be hard for others to understand. The feeling is mutual. I don’t see the point in summoning imps and felhunters to do my bidding. Why summon what you can steal? Two flying demons with one stone.

I reached out, and touched its mind. It was eager and hungry and thought only of wind and fire and soft screaming things in its claws. It wasn’t hard. _You’re mine now._

I heard a young priest near me gasp, but by then it was too late. I was already falling through the air, plunging down toward the ocean and the broken rocks below, the zeppelin shrinking into the darkness above.

As the night air roared around me, whipping my hair in my face and screaming in my ears, I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath of the salt air. For a moment, as I hurtled down toward the icy ocean, I was free.

Then I opened my eyes.

I didn’t even need to give the command. The demon was beneath me in seconds, smoothly angling to catch me on its spiny back without so much as a bump. Then we were away.

 

Funny thing about demons. For beings that are so strongly associated with fire, they really don’t like being _on_ fire. Well, except the imps. But that’s imps for you.

At any rate, these fel bat things sure don’t like it. At least, that’s what I’m guessing from the way they screeched and fell from the sky. What can I say. Rain of demons, meet rain of fire.

Of course, some demons are made of sterner stuff, and not all are as stupid as your average frontline felguard. Like the doomguard that came crashing into my mount. Stupid, but not so stupid as to let me burn down his whole flock.

I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings. What can I say, it’s been some time since I had the chance to set so many things on fire. Especially demonic things that scream and flap and fall, shrieking, from the sky. But whatever the reason, the doomguard blindsided me, and before I know it we’re doing the dance of death down toward the ocean in a big, lazy spiral.

But hey, I’m not fussy. A mount is a mount.

 

The bat had shielded me a little from the doomguard’s charge, and now it was flapping madly, trying to free itself from the huge claw thrust right through its side. This bought me just enough time to twist round toward my attacker before it tore my head from my shoulders.

The rushing air wailed in my ears as the doomguard’s fathomless black eyes gazed into mine. Captains of the Legion, doomguards aren’t the easiest nuts to crack. It took me a good five seconds.

The demon’s eyes twitched and flared as I reached down inside its pitiful mind, grabbed what passes for a soul in my fist, and tore it from its roots. The demon’s arm halted in the air mid-strike, massive claws frozen inches from my face. “I… will… _kill_ …” it managed to say. And then it was mine.

 _That pit lord you used to serve? He is_ nothing _compared to me. The blackness of his soul couldn’t conceive the things I have in mind for you, for all the demons of the Burning Legion. You will know pain and suffering beyond anything you have imagined. Don’t even try to resist. You were created to serve._ ** _Now serve your master._**

The doomguard’s eyes went flat. Its massive hand reached out, enfolding me with surprising gentleness just as the bat finally tore itself free, its insides gushing from the opening in its trunk as it fell away, down toward the waters crashing below.

The water was close now. I could hear the breaking of the waves on the rocks, hear the sizzle as burning bats dropped into the water.

 _Up_ , I thought, and the doomguard soared into the sky.

 

I would have liked to have seen the faces of the ‘heroes’ on board the zeppelin as I swept suddenly up past the railings, a huge, hulking doomguard with a tough, yet ruggedly handsome old orc on its back, heading straight for the great big hole in the sky.

 

When it was over, I landed my mount on one of the smaller chunks of rock floating around Dalaran. The demon had served to carry me the rest of the way; no point in getting back on board the big balloon at that point.

Once the fissure had been closed, the remaining demons had been mopped up pretty quickly. One shellshocked young mage had actually tried to throw a frostfire bolt at me as I flew by, no doubt confusing heroism with a suicide mission. Hah. Trust a mage to try to subdue a doomguard using spellpower.

From the mess on the deck as I flew past, looks like the hunter didn’t make it. Fel shrapnel coming in low, probably took his head clean off his shoulders. Well, if he was lucky. There’s a reason you don’t stand on the railings, kid.

I didn’t see the warlock, either. Maybe he bit off more than he could chew, trading curses with a doomguard. Or maybe he got just what he was looking for.

Overhead, the unnatural storm was clearing - for now, at least. The few demons left were being run down by a squadron of gryphon riders from Dalaran, and the crew on the ship were cheering, the dead already forgotten. I wondered if the hunter had anyone waiting for him in Dalaran.

I shrugged off the thought, and sent my mount hurtling toward the floating city.

 

There were a few screams as my mount touched down, but the crowd on the island next to me soon starting moving again once they saw me climbing from the stupefied doomguard’s back. Business as usual. Warlock business.

Still, it wouldn’t do to go frightening the good citizens of Dalaran as they go about their cozy little lives. Time to clean up.

 

“Tell them they made a mistake, killing her. Tell them they won’t get the chance to regret it.” The doomguard stood before me, its huge head bowed down to my eye level, glassy eyes gazing blankly forward, tongue lolling from its mouth. “Tell them I’ll be paying them a visit, very soon now. One they _won’t_ be able to forget. Got that?” The doomguard straightened suddenly and nodded its head, eager as a worg, its eyes burning with its new purpose. “Good,” I said, and raised my hands.

A golden glow began to show beneath the demon’s blood red skin, spreading slowly until the whole monstrous form seemed to radiate an amber light. Then with a deafening roar the doomguard exploded in a burst of flame, the remaining pieces of its physical form quickly consuming themselves as the demon burned up from the inside.

Fel speed.

 

Finding my way through the winding streets of this floating bundle of sewage pipes proved to be harder than I’d expected. Somehow I found myself before the city’s landing, the zeppelin I had left behind just now docking at the platform before me.

“Well look at what de cat dragged in.” A familiar voice cut through the sounds of the docks, with an Islands lilt I knew all too well, and I smiled, despite myself. How long had it been since I’d done that?

I turned and saw Zaalbeth walking toward me through the milling crowd. The troll hadn’t changed a bit, fancy new robes aside. I think he asked me here just so he could show off his new office.

The troll reached out his long arms and pulled me into a powerful embrace. He felt good. I squeezed him roughly, then thumped him on the back with the side of my hand and he retreated, coughing dramatically. “Well ya sure ain’t lost none a ya strength, old man,” he grinned. I smirked back. Zaalbeth. Not the worst troll to have by your side. Talks too much, of course. But for a priest, not too bad.

“Well now,” smiled the troll, eyeing my singed robes with a raise of his eyebrow, “I hope you enjoyed ya journey here?” I found myself smiling in return. “The ride was a little rough. Just the way I like it,” I added. The troll laughed, a kind, gentle sound.

All around people were passing by, orcs, trolls, elves, humans. But few stopped to watch a grizzled old orc greet his tall young friend. Nothing to see here.

“Well den,” said the troll, as we turned away into the bustling streets of Dalaran, “time to meet da rest a de gang.”


End file.
